


I think we should live happily ever after

by Cliotheproclaimer



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Married Life, Recovery from s4 events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23773348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliotheproclaimer/pseuds/Cliotheproclaimer
Summary: "Ada exhaled slowly, her eyes falling shut. ‘I suppose it was too much to hope for, that one hastily constructed potion would be enough to restore these old bones.’'Indeed.' Hecate replied in soft tones. 'Ada Cackle is a complex creation. She requires a great deal of attention, and skill, and care to be rebuilt.’***A coda to the finale. Ten days after Ada Cackle shattered into a thousand pieces and Hecate Hardbroom banished their now-Head Girl to Wormwood, there is Selection Day.
Relationships: Amelia Cackle | Ada Cackle/Hardbroom, Hardbroom & Mildred Hubble, background Dimity Drill/Julie Hubble
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56





	I think we should live happily ever after

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially every single thought I had after the finale. I hope you enjoy.

In many ways, that selection day began like any other. The first light of a cold April morning was streaming through the thin curtains of the Headmistress’s quarters; a fine mist enveloping the Academy, now silent and still on the tenth day of the Equinox holidays. And Hecate Hardbroom awoke to the feeling of her wife running her fingers through her hair, smoothing and stroking with a tender concentration.

That was perhaps the unusual facet of the morning. Hecate would usually braid at least part of her wild mane of hair to prevent it spreading and tangling like bindweed over their bed at night – but she had been up late with the timetable for today, and then up even later with Ada, and she had fallen asleep with an swiftness that prevented many of her usual preparations for bed.

With that thought she groaned, rubbing at her eye. She could feel where her make-up had melted to dark smudges in her sleep. Perfect. Coupled with her hair, she was sure that if she looked in their mirror, she would see not a deputy headmistress but a banshee.

‘Good morning.’ Ada intoned, her voice low and soft. Hecate hummed in reply, rolling over until her head was resting on her wife’s chest, her arm looping across her stomach. She was usually meticulous to a fault as to when she would get up, but just then, with the greenfinches still sleepily singing a morning hymn and Ada’s cheek resting on the top of her head, she thought that they could probably afford an extra fifteen minutes in bed.

‘You should wear your hair down more often.’ Ada remarked, as she twisted a strand between her fingertips. ‘It is extraordinarily beautiful.’

‘Novelty.’ Hecate’s voice was muffled in Ada’s collarbone, cracking with sleep. ‘You’ll be in quite a different frame of mind the next time you wake up to a mouthful of hair.’

‘Mmm. Perhaps.’ Ada shifted beneath her. ‘Sorry, dearest – do you mind? I’m a little stiff.’

‘Of course.’ Hecate sat up; her mind abruptly focused as she regarded her wife with anxiety. ‘Is it bad this morning?’

‘Not too bad.’ Ada’s voice only wavered slightly. ‘It woke me rather early, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.’

‘You should have woken me.’ Hecate leant over to her bedside table, removing a small pot of ointment from the drawer. Ada reached to pat her arm.

‘But you looked so peaceful. And I was able to use the time productively. I’ve been revising my speech.’

‘You have revised your speech almost ten times over the past two days.’ Hecate pointed out, with an affectionate roll of her eyes. ‘I am sure there are no more possible permutations of the English language.’ She opened the pot, swirling her finger through the balm. ‘Where does it hurt?’

‘My legs.’ Ada admitted. ‘My knees, and ankles and hips.’

‘Right.’ Hecate pulled back the duvet and crawled to the bottom of the bed, until she was kneeling by Ada’s feet. Gathering ointment on her fingers, she took Ada’s foot in her hands and began to massage in circular motions around her ankle bone, fingers light and soothing.

Ada gave a small, contented sigh.

‘Did you alter the mixture again?’

‘A little.’ Hecate conceded, retrieving more of the balm. ‘I had a closer look at Mildred Hubble’s ingredient list and thought that a tad more chamomile might reduce inflammation.’

‘It’s lovely.’ Ada exhaled slowly, her eyes falling shut. ‘I suppose it was too much to hope for, that one hastily constructed potion would be enough to restore these old bones.’

Hecate looked up at her brave, suffering, _magnificent _wife and thought, not for the first time, that it shouldn’t be possible to feel her love for her increase so, when her heart was already so full. Shaking her head, she pressed a gentle kiss to Ada’s ankle, whispering the healing spell into the skin.

‘Indeed.’ Hecate said in soft tones, before turning her attention to Ada’s other ankle. ‘Ada Cackle is a complex creation. She requires a great deal of attention, and skill, and care to be rebuilt.’ She lowered her lips, placing another kiss on Ada’s shin. ‘It is a task I intend to give all my focus and dedication.’ Her fingers moved higher, working the balm into Ada’s knees, and Ada hummed, allowing her legs to relax and fall slightly further apart.

‘You can’t imagine how much better that feels.’

‘Give me time.’ Hecate promised, her mouth circling around Ada’s thighs, working her nightdress up until it bunched around her waist. ‘I’ll have you feeling even better.’

‘Heavens above, Hecate.’ Ada panted, still squirming a little as she recovered her equilibrium. ‘It is _Selection Day_.’

‘Mmm.’ Hecate acknowledged, moving higher up the bed and draping herself over Ada, careful of her other half’s aching limbs. ‘I may have got a bit carried away.’

‘I’ll say.’ Ada turned on her side and met Hecate’s mouth in a slow, languid kiss, pressing herself against Hecate until she could feel the thrum of Ada’s heartbeat against her chest. Hecate moved her head back to drink in the sight of the other woman, her hands coming to cup her face.

‘I love you.’ She informed her wife, sincerely, her voice a little thick. ‘And I apologise for every day I haven’t said it, because you deserve to hear it every day.’ Ada chuckled, moving her head to kiss the heel of Hecate’s thumb where it rested near her jaw.

‘I love you too, you sentimental old thing.’ She squeezed her elbow. ‘Now, we had better get up. We have a busy day, and whilst your resemblance to a Wild Moor-Witch is unspeakably attractive, you might scare some of the incoming first years.’

Ada’s hands had suffered the worst of the shattering spell. As she applied her own lipstick, Hecate watched her wife’s reflection in their dressing-table mirror, her earlier cheerfulness dimmed as she huffed and struggled with the buttons of her dress, fingers clumsy and slow. Hecate bit her lower lip to quell the offer of help she so desperately wanted to utter. There was nothing she hated more than seeing Ada so frustrated – Ada, who loved crosswords, and embroidery, and backgammon, and who liked to remind their girls that _devils find work for idle hands_.

Ada met her eyes in the mirror.

‘Fine.’ She said in a small voice. ‘Would you mind giving me a hand?’

Hecate crossed the room, her fingers working dexterously across the fastenings of Ada’s dress.

‘I’m not an invalid, you know.’ Ada told her, in the crotchety tones Hecate recognised as her attempt not to sound upset.

‘I know.’ Hecate soothed, steering her wife into a chair and summoning her tights from a drawer. ‘This won’t last forever.’ She paused. ‘Did you think any more about what I suggested?’ Ada’s mouth pressed together; her forehead contracted in an unhappy frown.

‘I suppose I shall have to.’ She said eventually. ‘But I can’t say I like the idea. Mother always said that a Headmistress who walks with a cane is a Headmistress who should have retired five years previous.’

‘Then we shall have to add that comment to many things your mother and I disagree on.’ Hecate rolled Ada’s tights up her legs, reaching and pressing a fleeting kiss to her mouth as she did so. ‘Besides which, I am sure Dimity Drill will be very offended if you say anything of the sort in her presence.’ Waving her hand, she summoned Ada’s make up bag.

‘I suppose.’ Ada said, discontentedly, as Hecate began to work around her face with a brush. ‘But Dimity is still young. I suspect those girls will see me today and think I look as weak and feeble as their grandmothers.’

‘Well then, more fool them.’ Hecate assured her, tilting Ada’s chin and applying her mascara with a practised, delicate touch. ‘I seem to remember you saying that it was a foolish witch who judges by appearances.’

‘I did.’ Ada smiled then, in spite of herself. ‘But the witch in question was being rather stubborn at the time.’

‘Yes, Mildred Hubble was being rather pig-headed about that cat.’ Hecate replied innocently, rewarded by Ada’s answering laugh. ‘Speaking of whom, I sent her the itinerary for today. Although knowing the girl, she has no doubt already lost it.’

‘Oh dear.’ Ada chuckled, ‘I do wonder whether Mildred Hubble has realised what she has got herself in for.’

‘Well if she hasn’t, she’ll soon find out.’ Hecate promised, grimly.

* * *

By the time they were both dressed and made up, and Hecate had transferred them to the front of the school, there was already a crowd of assembled girls and their parents – some in witching cloaks, others in jeans, looking in bewilderment about them, as if unsure as to how they had got to where they were.

‘Here they are, Hecate.’ Ada beamed, all anxieties about her cane apparently forgotten as she eyed the assembled mass in front of her with delight. ‘The future of witchcraft.’

‘The future of witchcraft?’ Hecate drawled, eyes alighting on one pigtailed girl crying into her mother’s cloak. ‘If this is our future, Ada, then we must accept that the craft is in inexorable decline. These are nothing but _little girls_.’

‘We were all little girls once, Hecate.’ Dimity emerged from the crowd of questioning parents and clapped Hecate on the back cheerfully. ‘Gwen told me to say that when I mirrored her yesterday. She also said to give you her love, and that I should try and discourage you from making any potential First Years cry.’ Hecate scowled, but Ada patted her arm.

‘There now, dear. You do tend to take a rather – pessimistic – look at our incoming first years.’

‘Realistic.’ Hecate muttered, darkly. ‘I expect that every remaining hair that has not yet been turned grey by Azura Moon, or Beatrice Bunch, or _Mildred Hubble _will be the victim of one of these miscreant pre-teens.’

‘Don’t worry, HB.’ Dimity grinned. ‘I’ll put in an extra order for your hair dye potion; that should see you through for at least the first term.’

‘Speaking of our Head Girl, where is Mildred?’ Ada asked quickly, before Hecate could act on her long-threatened plan of transforming Dimity into a slug. ‘She is coming, is she not?’

‘Yes of course.’ Dimity assured her. ‘I did offer her a lift here, but she mentioned something about having another mode of transport.’

Hecate raised her eyes heavenwards.

‘The fact that your questions ceased there, and you left her to her own devices, suggests that you have learnt very little whilst teaching Mildred Hubble, Miss Drill.’ Then she frowned. ‘You…offered her a lift? In the middle of the Equinox holidays?’ Dimity flushed scarlet.

‘Julie needed her boiler fixing. I said I’d have a look.’

‘It is only eight-thirty in the morning.’ Hecate pointed out; her voice smooth as silk. She allowed herself a small, smug smile as Dimity’s blush deepened. After almost walking in on her present and former colleague in a disused classroom at the end of last term, Hecate had very little doubt as to how Dimity had been spending her leave.

‘Look!’ Ada, who had been doing her very best to ignore the squabbling of her two colleagues, pointed to the sky. ‘There she is. Right on time.’

‘Miracles do happen.’ Hecate murmured, squinting at where a witch with two long, red pigtails streaming out behind her was navigating the steady stream of parents and children making their way to the academy. ‘But…what on earth is she flying?’

As Mildred Hubble approached and began her descent, her mode of transport became visible. The girl was pedalling what had to be _the oldest bicycle _Hecate Hardbroom had seen in her life through the sky, ringing her bell cheerily at the birds.

‘Good grief.’ Dimity breathed, shielding her eyes from the sun as she watched Mildred come down. ‘Talk about arriving in style.’

‘That’s one word for it.’ Hecate muttered, as Mildred came closer. She made an addendum of _bicycle related mishaps_ to her mental list of potential Hubble-related disasters.

Really rather gracefully, Mildred Hubble alighted on the ground in front of the teachers, swung her legs over the frame and bowed her head in as elegant a greeting to her thunderstruck teachers as a witching debutante might offer to the Grand High Witch.

‘Well met, Miss Cackle. Well met, Miss Drill.’ She grinned. ‘Well met, Miss Hardbroom. I hope you’re all enjoying the break.’

‘_Mildred Hubble_.’ Hecate enunciated. ‘Where on earth did you dig that…that ancient bone-shaking device up from?’

‘Oh, do you like it?’ Mildred beamed. ‘I got it for an absolute steal – do you know it’s almost a hundred years old? And the spells on it didn’t even need that much updating.’ Hecate ran her eyes over it in disbelief.

‘The bicycle seat appears to be an old woollen hat resting on springs.’ She pointed out.

‘That was mum’s idea.’ Mildred explained. ‘She said she did the same thing with her bike when she was at nursing school. And look, I made a lovely big basket for it! Tabby loves it.’

Mildred pulled her familiar out of the basket and into her arms. Every hair of Tabby’s fur was standing on end, and the look in his eyes was that of a cat who had experienced things no feline should be called on to experience.

‘Well, I think it is splendid.’ Ada pulled the girl into a one-armed hug. ‘I haven’t seen an enchanted velocipede since my grandmother’s day.’

‘You’re welcome to have a go, once the first years have left.’ Mildred returned her Headteacher’s embrace, giving Hecate a sly look. ‘You as well, Miss Hardbroom.’

‘Speaking of the first years.’ Hecate replied, flashing her eyes at Mildred, who to her consternation only grinned back. ‘Did you receive the list of your responsibilities for today?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Mildred nodded formally, snapping her fingers and (presumably) sending her bicycle to the shed. ‘Very thorough, Miss Hardbroom. I didn’t realise all that was the head girl’s job – I remember Esmeralda Hallow took us round.’

‘Because Frances Feverfew had the Croak.’ Ada remembered. ‘And we all thought that Esme would be a sure candidate for Head Girl. Of course, it didn’t quite work out like that. But then, who would have thought the little girl who scored one per cent on her entrance test and turned one of her peers into a worm in the process would go on to be Head of School one day?’

Hecate could see that Ada’s spectacles were already misting up at the thought.

‘Gosh, I’d forgotten about that one per cent.’ Mildred said cheerfully. ‘It must have merged with all the other one per cents I got in First Year.’

‘All deserved.’ Hecate sniffed. ‘My potions laboratory has still not recovered from some of your First-Year efforts.’

‘Excuse me.’ A rather snooty looking woman in a white pashmina approached, her young daughter trailing behind her. ‘It says in the prospectus that the girls are permitted to _ride broomsticks_. I assume they are given the proper protective gear to do so?’

‘Where’s Miss Gullet when you need her.’ Dimity muttered to Hecate, darkly. But she put on a forced grin. ‘Allow me to show you our collection of protective spells for the more nervous fliers among our pupils.’

Dimity took the woman by the elbow and led her away, to the sound of the woman informing their sports mistress that _‘Florence was down for St Swithun’s, you know_.’ Her daughter, remaining behind, looked up at the three witches fearfully through a cloud of fluffy blonde hair.

‘I don’t have a pointy hat.’ She said, nervously. ‘Should I be wearing one?’

‘No, dear.’ Ada said firmly. ‘You won’t need one until you begin studying magic. What is your name?’

‘Florence. Florence Pethwick-Lacey.’ Hecate fought the urge to roll her eyes.

‘Well met, Florence.’ Mildred bent down. ‘This is how you greet witches, look. You give them a small bow, you hold up your hand to your forehead, and you say: ‘well met.’ Go on, practise on Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom.'

Florence looked even more afraid than she had before, but copied Mildred.

‘Well met, Miss Hardbroom. Well met, Miss Cackle.’

‘Well met, Florence.’ Ada inclined her head. ‘Now, all you have to do is follow Mildred. You’re to have a tour before you sit the written paper.’

‘Yes of course.’ Mildred smiled at Florence. ‘Come on, let’s find the other candidates.’ Florence nodded, and the two girls walked off together.

‘Someone will have to tie up that child’s hair before she attempts the potions practical.’ Hecate frowned, watching as Mildred began to round up the rest of the prospective first years.

‘Mildred really was an inspired choice for Head Girl, wasn’t she?’ Ada was watching Mildred, her cheeks rosy with pride. ‘Look at how good she is with the younger students.’

Hecate surveyed the scene. The students were lining up obediently, all watching with awed attention as Mildred introduced herself. Even the crying girl from before was giggling at something she had just said.

‘Time will tell.’ Hecate said primly, trying to ignore the swell of approval for her most troublesome pupil that appeared to be puffing out her chest. ‘But she does have a certain way with them, I’ll give you that.’ Her wife smiled.

‘You really have come a long way on Mildred Hubble, Hecate.’ Ada came closer, squeezed Hecate’s arm. ‘To think how determined you were to get her thrown out, her first half-term.’

‘I recall no such thing.’ Hecate covered Ada’s hand with her own. ‘I do on the other hand remember spending the majority of my spare time with her in her first two years, trying to bring her up to the standard of the others.’

‘You did.’ Ada looked up at her wife, her eyes twinkling. ‘Do you think the girl suspects that was the purpose of all those detentions?’

‘I doubt it.’ Hecate brushed imaginary dust from her cloak. ‘She is not the most observant of witches, after all, Ada.’

‘No.’ Ada pressed a small, fleeting kiss to her shoulder. ‘Much like someone else I know.’ Hecate huffed indignantly. ‘Anyway. Go and register the girls – I shall meet you in the exam hall after the tour.’

‘Yes, Miss Cackle.’ Hecate slipped into formality with practised ease, at once putting professional distance between them. ‘I shall see you then.’

* * *

Hecate frowned, tapping at her timepiece. The girls had by now filed obediently into the hall and were sat at their desks, almost all fidgeting nervously, or muttering witching facts under their breath.

Almost all.

She scanned down her register once more, exchanging a glance with Ada, who was sat behind the invigilators’ desk.

‘Greta Greenbriar.’ She informed the Headmistress, who nodded thoughtfully.

‘Ah yes. I believe I saw her looking rather nervous earlier. Would you mind going after her, Hecate?’ She gestured to her knees. ‘Now that I’ve sat down, I would rather not get up again.’

‘I – of course.’ Hecate replied, disconcerted. This was most definitely Ada’s role; chasing down nervous students and persuading them that a three-hour combined-theory-and-practice entrance exam really wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Hecate Hardbroom rarely doubted her capabilities as an educator, but even she could acknowledge that she wasn’t a reassuring presence, particularly where it concerned their younger cohort.

But when Hecate cast her locator spell and rematerialised on the steps up to the castle entrance, she was surprised to see not only Greta Greenbriar, but Mildred Hubble sitting next to her, listening sympathetically. Curious, and more than a little hopeful that she might not have to step in herself, Hecate drew her hand over herself and became invisible, moving silently closer until she could hear their conversation.

‘…And everyone in my family got in here, and they all did really well on the entrance test. What if I don’t? What if I’m the first one not to get in?’ Greta finished what had clearly been a long list of woes, and Mildred nodded, seriously.

‘I get it. I was so scared before the entrance exam. But if you don't try, you definitely won’t get in.’

‘But what if I do try my best, and I’m still not good enough?’ The girl replied, in a voice so diminutive that it was half lost in the draughty castle staircase. Mildred sighed, fiddling with one of her plaits thoughtfully.

‘Do you want to know what I got in the written exam?’ The girl nodded her head. ‘One per cent. And that was for writing my name.’ Greta’s eyes widened; her mouth open in wonderment.

‘So, you must have done amazingly in the potions practical.’

‘Nope.’ Mildred shook her head. ‘I failed it completely. I took some pondweed from another girl’s scales, and she turned into a worm.’

‘And they still let you in?’ Greta asked, bewildered. Mildred laughed.

‘It was a pretty strange day. But the thing about Miss Cackle is that she can spot potential in anyone. If she thinks that you have it in you to do well here, she won’t let a bad exam get in the way of that. And even if you don’t get in today, that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to try again. And it definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll be any less magic than you were when you walked in today. Because it’s not all about casting spells, or flying on a broomstick, or wearing a pointy hat. A witch is a person who is determined to make things go their way, and as long as you remember that, it won’t matter how many exams you do badly in. Alright?’

‘Alright.’ Greta got to her feet, looking a bit braver. ‘Let’s go to the exam.’

Realising that this was her cue, Hecate rematerialised in front of the two girls, waved a hand and sent Greta Greenbriar to her desk in the hall. Mildred looked up in surprise.

‘Were you here all this time, Miss Hardbroom?’

‘That would be telling.’ Hecate inclined her head, attempting once more to tamp her growing pride for her student lest it show too readily on her face. ‘Still, that was – a good effort Mildred Hubble.’ Hecate ground her teeth at herself; for sounding as though she was merely congratulating the girl on a successfully brewed potion. But Mildred beamed at her in reply.

‘Thanks Miss Hardbroom. She was fine though – not the first witch to lose their confidence.’

It was a casual remark, and yet Hecate felt a sudden, sickening pang of guilt at the girl’s words. Just ten days ago she had seen the girl in abject despair, having convinced herself finally that she was not only the worst witch, but someone who shouldn’t be trusted practising magic. And Hecate had done nothing but confirm her own fears, and send her to an institution that, from what Hecate had seen of the reports that had come out earlier in the holidays, was little better than a prison. For days she had read every sickening detail of what girls were subjected to at Wormwood, punishing herself with imagined visions of what could have happened to Mildred had the girl not broken out.

‘But I’d better get to the hall.’ Hecate heard Mildred say, distantly. ‘According to your timetable, I’m supposed to be helping invigilate the exam.’ And Hecate felt Mildred brush past her, tripping her way up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

‘Wait, Mildred Hubble.’ Hecate turned around, and to her chagrin found herself half running up the stairs after the girl. Mildred turned around in surprise.

‘What, what is it? Is everything alright?’

Hecate struggled with herself. She was a proud woman, Mildred was a student and this was not the done thing. But Mildred was looking up at her with wide, inquiring eyes, much as she had when she was a little girl, and Hecate felt hot shame rise up in her like bile once more.

‘I am sorry.’ She said, quietly. Mildred’s eyebrows rose in alarm.

‘What for?’ Hecate groaned, inwardly. This clearly wasn’t going to get any easier.

‘For sending you away to Wormwood. It was a – an appalling error of judgement.’

Mildred looked taken aback. Whatever she had been expecting to hear, it had clearly not been this.

‘Oh.’ She shuffled her shoes, suddenly awkward. ‘You didn’t have to say it, Miss Hardbroom. I knew you were sorry when you came to see me after we defeated Agatha.’

‘Yes, I am aware.’ Hecate said stiffly. ‘But I have always been a witch who believes in taking responsibility for her actions, and I would not be taking responsibility if I did not properly apologise for sending you to that wretched place. I just hope you know that I regretted it almost immediately after...’ She trailed off. _After my brain resumed functioning_. ‘After coming to my senses.’

Mildred smiled at her then, tentatively.

‘That’s alright.’

‘But I…’

‘Miss Hardbroom, you were upset.’ Mildred said quickly, as if half-expecting that she would be put in detention for even _imagining _the emotions of the Deputy Headmistress. ‘You had just lost your…your _Miss Cackle_. People do bad things when they’re upset – and I’m not any kind of exception. It’s okay.’

‘That as may be.’ Hecate said a little stiffly, but she felt her own gaze soften as she stepped closer to Mildred. ‘I only hope you know, Mildred Hubble, that even if we had been unable to restore Miss Cackle, I would not have left you there. That is all.’

Mildred blinked.

‘Miss Hardbroom, I…’ For a moment, Mildred looked as though she might hug Hecate, and she felt herself stiffen accordingly. But instead, the girl blinked rather rapidly and held out her hand.

‘Thank you, Miss Hardbroom.’ Hecate took the proffered hand and shook it, (as she had been informed was the ordinary practice,) feeling infinitely relieved.

‘Not at all, Mildred. Now, I believe we have an exam to invigilate.’

* * *

The first round went off without a hitch. The inevitable disasters of the second round were mopped up with limited after-effects - although Freda Foxglove’s ears were still a little floppier than average. But by the end, as had happened for every year as far back as Hecate could remember, (bar perhaps one outlier four years ago,) by the end of the second round they had their new cohort, all fizzing with delight at the success of their first potion.

‘Right then, girls.’ Hecate consulted her register. ‘Would those who have not passed this year please make their way out to their parents and guardians. Anyone who wishes to will be able to reapply next year.’ And with the unsuccessful candidates having made their way out, she regarded the new first years with a beady eye.

Among them she made out girls who bore resemblance to sisters and aunts and mothers who had passed through the school – Greta Greenbriar stood out, as did Felicity Foxglove’s younger sister, and Mona Spellbody’s latest granddaughter; Miriam. But equally there were more girls than ever before who were still gazing around her laboratory in awe, whose cotton t-shirts bore incomprehensible slogans and who were excitedly getting out their handheld miniature maglets, presumably to communicate the good news to their parents.

With a flash of her eyes, Hecate vanished each and every one, transporting them to a box she had obtained for the purpose after first encountering Mildred with one of the strange communication devices.

‘Silence.’ She intoned, in well-practised dangerous tones that made every chattering girl snap their mouths shut immediately and stand up a little straighter.

‘Well done girls.’ Ada beamed. She had risen from the chair Hecate had got for her to use in the potions laboratory and was leaning on her cane. Only Hecate could see the whitening of her knuckles as she gripped the handle, the beads of sweat on the back of her neck. ‘I look forward to getting better acquainted with all of you next year. But now, we have the traditional celebration lunch. Single file to the hall – Mildred Hubble, would you lead the way?’

Obediently, the girls formed an orderly line, Mildred at the helm as they trooped after her.

Ada made to follow them, but as the last girl left the potions’ lab, Hecate caught her wife’s wrist.

‘Here.’ She slipped a small bottle of pain-relief potion into her Ada’s hand. ‘I’ve counteracted the drowsiness of the valerian with weeping willow bark. It should provide you with some relief, but not send you to sleep.’

‘Hecate.’ Ada looked at the small bottle in amazement. ‘That must have taken you hours of experimentation – and on top of the balm you made for me…’

‘Do you honestly think I begrudge you the time?’ Hecate asked softly. ‘Besides, I intend to enjoy your new speech, and I shan’t be able to do so if I see you are in pain.’

She ducked her head, well aware that if she looked at Ada now, even with all her years of practising discipline and self-restraint, she might not be able to prevent herself from reaching across and capturing Ada’s lips with her own. ‘May I transfer us to the hall, Miss Cackle?’

Ada took a moment to reply, and when she spoke her voice was rather thick.

‘I think you had better, Miss Hardbroom.’

By the time they materialised in the dining hall, however, Ada had composed herself, and took a small, quick swig of the pain-relief before walking to take her place at the head of the table. Hecate sat down next to her; Mildred Hubble already seated at her other side. Ada clapped her hands, and with the simple action the girls quieted their chatter and turned towards the High Table expectantly. The Headmistress cleared her throat, clasping her hands in front of her and regarding the new girls over the tops of her glasses.

‘Now girls, in the past I would make a rather long, rambling speech, that had also been made by my mother, and my grandmother, and all my great-grandmothers for as long as there had been a selection day. And in it I would talk about the importance of carrying on witching traditions that went back generations. But for some of you here today, you have no magical ancestry to speak of, or if you do, it is far too far away to be of any use or relevance to you now. So, I must move with the times, as it were, and make a new speech.

‘As pupils of Cackle’s Academy, you are to train as witches. I will not make light of the great responsibility this entails. You are the best and brightest of our young magical talent, and here at Cackle’s your teachers will do their utmost to make sure you perform to the best of your abilities. But you must understand from the beginning that the power you wield will have consequences, and they may not always be happy ones. The codes and traditions Cackle’s Academy uphold to this day are designed to help you control and manage that power, but ultimately a witch must take responsibility for her own actions. We take a very dim view here of those witches who seek to use their magic for selfish or malicious reasons.’

Ada paused and swallowed, and Hecate resisted the urge to squeeze Ada’s hand. For what she was sure wouldn’t be the last time, Hecate wondered at Ada’s capacity for love, for her mourning for a sister who would have happily seen her dead. Hecate looked at her wife; willed her to continue. And Ada gave her a small, quick smile, and did so.

‘But if you choose to take the opportunity, you will get a great deal more from your time here than how to brew an impeccable potion, or how to parse a chant to perfection. You will forge bonds and friendships that will last you the rest of your life. You will learn the value of hard work and participation and learn to appreciate qualities of steadfastness and kindness. You will, I hope, end your days at Cackle’s not only as good witches, but as wise, capable young women equipped with the skills to handle the challenges that life poses, ready to forge their own way in the world. Young women such as our Head Girl, Mildred Hubble.’

All eyes in the room turned to the young woman in question, who promptly turned scarlet and knocked over her tumbler of water.

Hecate, rolling her eyes, waved her hand and set the scene to rights. Mildred gave her a sheepish smile, mouthing her thanks.

‘So, with that in mind, I would like to give you all a warm welcome to Cackle’s Academy. I look forward to getting better acquainted with you all. But our food is getting cold, so let’s tuck in!’

Ada took her seat, a little breathless from standing for so long, and there was polite applause from the new first years, many suddenly thoughtful and solemn. Their quietude lasted barely half a minute, however, before lively, excited chatter filled the hall once more.

‘That was the bats, Miss Cackle.’ Mildred leant towards Ada, who smiled warmly back.

‘Thank you, Mildred.’ Her gaze turned to Hecate, who tried to condense all her love and approval and admiration into one glance at her wife. From Ada’s blush and shining eyes, she gathered she had been successful.

‘It looks like we have quite a lot of students from ordinary backgrounds.’ Mildred commented, scanning the room. ‘Look, there’s Florence, from before.’

‘Seven of the girls in the first form will be from such backgrounds.’ Hecate pointed out. ‘More than any other council-funded magical school. By seven.’ She stirred her soup a little gloomily. ‘I anticipate this to be our most chaotic first year yet.’

‘I actually had an idea about that.’ Mildred set her spoon down. ‘I thought maybe the fifth years could offer magical mentoring sessions to some of the students from non-magical backgrounds. After all, if they make up a quarter of our intake, there’s no way Miss Hardbroom can put them _all _in detention.’ Mildred flashed a quick grin at her old form mistress.

‘No,’ Ada chuckled, as Hecate spluttered and harrumphed. ‘She can’t. It’s a brilliant idea Mildred. Have you got volunteers?’ Mildred nodded.

‘Even Ethel wanted to do it. Do you know, I really think she has turned over a new leaf.’

‘That girl has turned over more new leaves than I have brewed potions.’ Hecate muttered behind her glass of water, heard only by Ada, who tapped her arm warningly.

‘I will add the sessions to their timetables in the autumn term. Crafty thinking, Mildred. And it will be a good addition to all of your applications for witching college. As a matter of fact, have you given any thought to where you might like to apply next year?’

‘I – no, Miss Cackle.’ Mildred said, frowning. ‘I don’t really know anything about it. I can’t imagine leaving Cackle’s – everything I know about magic, I learnt here.’ She looked around the room, a little sadly. ‘I can’t believe I’m going into my last year. I still feel like one of them.’

‘There now, dear.’ Ada reached behind Hecate to squeeze Mildred’s arm, even as Hecate made out her infinitesimal wince of pain at the action. ‘You’ll be ready to leave us, by the end of fifth year. It is we who will miss you. Isn’t that right, Miss Hardbroom?’ 

Hecate sniffed, not saying a word. She had broken enough new ground that day by expressing remorse to a student – she certainly was not going to admit to possessing any more feelings, even when on the receiving end of a rather knowing look from her wife.

* * *

As with all selection days, the afternoon passed quickly enough, and soon enough their new girls were being sent home with uniform lists and Witches' Codes, and spells they could practise over the five months before they were due to start at the academy. Even Mildred Hubble and Dimity Drill by now had said their farewells, the two racing each other across the sky on bicycle and broomstick respectively back to Julie Hubble’s flat.

And so, as twilight descended on the academy, and Hecate and Ada retired to their rooms, a growing peace and stillness permeated the castle walls once more. And as they had done every year, Ada tuned the radio to _Witching Hour_ and summoned her slippers and biscuit tin to her favourite armchair, whilst Hecate sat opposite with a magical sudoku, tea steeping between them.

Except this year, Ada was not commenting on how well particular girls had done, or how pleasant the lunch was, or even on how they should spend the rest of their Equinox vacation, now that the hard work of Selection Day was done. Indeed, without the prospect of their fresh intake to distract Ada, Hecate thought she detected some of her wife’s earlier malaise, the biscuits untouched by her side as she gazed morosely out of the window. Hecate often thought that whenever Ada was particularly downcast, her unhappiness seemed almost tangible, that it seemed to hang in the air and prick at Hecate’s skin like needles.

She put down her sudoku puzzle and began to pour their tea.

‘How are you feeling?’ Ada let out a small sigh, her brow furrowed.

‘Tired.’

‘Do you need any more of the balm?’ Hecate made to rise, but Ada shook her head.

‘I’m fine, Hecate, really.’

Ada’s tone could not be called snappish, but it was certainly curter than usual, and as Hecate took her seat once more, she was unsure of what to say. She knew Ada better than she knew her own self, and yet there were still moments where she struggled to read her, when her wife would disappear into herself, moody and withdrawn.

Hecate didn’t usually mind, knew that Ada would eventually come to her and confess whatever worry had been plaguing her. But it was so rare for Ada to look so downcast on what was usually one of her favourite days that Hecate felt bound to try and divine the root of her troubles.

‘Ada …’

‘Is this it now, do you think?’ Hecate looked up, surprised. Ada was regarding her with her piercing Headmistress’s gaze, but her bottom lip was trembling somewhat. ‘Am I an old woman now? Will I have aches and pains, and eventually become so useless that you have to put me in a retirement home for elderly witches?’

Hecate blinked.

‘I – I’m sorry?’ She furrowed her brow. ‘In what world am I putting you in a home?’

‘You know what I mean.’ Ada sniffed, summoning her handkerchief. ‘I know it’s never mattered, me being older, but I feel like I’ve aged into an old crone, and you’re still young and beautiful, and I don’t see how you’ll put up with me when I can’t do anything anymore.’ With that statement, two fresh tears made their way down her wife’s cheeks. Hecate regarded Ada carefully, heart aching as she wondered how best to proceed. Clearly this had been bothering Ada since the end of term.

‘First of all, it is quite a stretch of the imagination to call me _young_.’ She said, quietly. ‘Secondly, all you are experiencing is the after-effects of an incredibly potent shattering spell, which any younger witch would struggle to throw off. And thirdly…’ She paused. ‘Thirdly…’ Hecate rose to her feet and crossed the floor to where Ada was sitting, arranging herself neatly until she had her head on Ada’s lap, her feet tucked beneath her. Ada’s hands came to rest in her hair, shaking and brittle.

'Thirdly, after the events of last term, after...' Hecate trailed off, her throat tightening. _After I thought I had lost you forever. '_After everything that happened, I began to think what our life might be like if - when - we decide we have had enough of teaching.' 

Hecate summoned her maglet and handed it to her wife. On it, she had got up the real estate photos of a small cottage, with painted white windows and a green painted door, and honeysuckle that climbed up the grey brick.

‘It’s in Devon.’ Hecate settled herself more comfortably against Ada, running a hand up and down her knee. ‘It has ample space for gardens, and a large cauldron fireplace, and a bedroom with views over the sea.’ Hecate sneaked a glance up. Her wife was silent, tears suspended on her cheeks as she flicked through the photos with careful, difficult motions. ‘I anticipate we shall oversee a few more generations of witches before we are done teaching, Ada. But, one day in the future, I can promise you that there will be no place I would rather be than in a cottage with you; brewing potions, and gardening, and doing the crossword. With my kind, intelligent, _breathtakingly attractive_ wife, who I have somehow been lucky enough to deserve.’

Hecate looked up at Ada, met her gaze and gave her a small smile, unsurprised to feel tears pricking at the backs of her own eyes.

Choking on a sob, Ada drew her upwards, and Hecate perched on the arm of their chair, bending her head to draw her wife into a long, tender kiss. When she withdrew, Ada was only crying a little.

‘I suppose.’ She said, on a hiccup. ‘With how hard everything was today, I thought about all of this ending, and it frightened me. But seeing this…’ She traced the image of the cottage – _their cottage, perhaps _– with her fingernail. ‘If this is how it ends, then I’m not sure I mind all that much.’

‘Perhaps because it is not in fact an ending.’ Hecate remarked, leaning her chin on her wife’s shoulder. ‘But rather a coda. An epilogue, tying up the loose ends of the long chapter of our lives we have spent here, together.’ She pressed a kiss to Ada’s temple, well aware that she was about to say something so unspeakably sentimental that she would not be able to utter it without hiding her face. ‘A happily ever after.’

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


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